


"The Lonely Prayer (Ringing Through the Land of Rain)"

by goldenteaset



Category: Annihilation (2018 Garland)
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Ending, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bittersweet, Dubious Morality, Empathy, Gen, Implied Body Horror, Self-Hatred, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 05:34:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14037291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenteaset/pseuds/goldenteaset
Summary: "The Shimmer creates with the tools and material provided. And mutations are not always destructive."The biologist and her copy, at the end of the expedition.





	"The Lonely Prayer (Ringing Through the Land of Rain)"

**Author's Note:**

> After having pondered Annihilation for weeks, this is the result. I enjoyed the book more (years ago), but the Humanoid is an A+ addition! 
> 
> Title comes from Yuki Kajuira's song "Deep Forest". Even with a more classical sound, it felt like it fit Annihilation's themes (to me).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Annihilation (2018) or the Southern Reach Trilogy.

A copy—not carbon, but rainbow—stands before the biologist. This...creature is taller than her almost by a head. The facial features are barely visible; two curved cuts for eyes, one for a mouth. Neither moves.

Droplets drip from the cave ceiling. _Plip-plip. Plip-plip._

A drop lands on the copy’s shoulder, and it flinches at the cold contact.

The biologist reacts on instinct, hoists her gun and curls her finger around the lukewarm trigger. She can’t recall how many bullets she has left, but she must have enough.

The copy mimics her posture, though it doesn’t have a gun. It watches her like a bird of prey, sizing up its kill—

—No. Wait.

Though her stomach lurches just to think of it, she recalls Kane’s final recording. Even in his despair (her fault, her failure), he still managed to care for a biologist named “Lena”. His words were seared from her brain as the phosphorous exploded, but…didn’t someone respond to him?

Someone with a voice that mirrored his?

The biologist and her copy lock gazes. The only sound is the water dripping off the walls.

A second. Five seconds. Thirty.

“Did,” she struggles to speak. It’s as if her throat is clogged with glass shards. “Did you make a promise to Kane?”

The copy doesn’t answer. Perhaps it can’t. But it doesn’t attack her. It remains in the dim light, watching patiently, its skin rippling like an audio track.

Heart pounding sickeningly in her chest, she lets go of the trigger. The world lurches and bobs—she’s kneeling. The ground feels soft, wet, lukewarm, and soaks her knees.

“…I’m alone.” Why is she talking to this thing? “I lost everyone…”

Her stomach twists in her belly, as if it’s stuffed with eels. She sees the copy is in the same position, hunched over and trembling.

The biologist wanted to come here. She doesn’t remember why. Was there ever a why? Everything is a jumble, her mind a void of nothing but the most basic of needs. Eat. Sleep. Walk. Survive.

All she received in return was one extra corpse.

Her throat fills with burning bile. Her wretched gagging echoes endlessly off the cave walls, on and on and on. The noise hurts her ears, turns her head into a throbbing point of agony.

Despite the pain, she wipes her mouth and crawls forward. It's all she can do. Her back is lighter now—perhaps she left the gun behind somewhere.

That doesn’t matter. What matters is reaching the Humanoid. Somehow, that name describes the copy very well.

It can’t be called “Lena”, after all. “Lena” is a selfish murderer, who can’t even die properly. “Lena” let her expedition die. Anyone she tried to help broke in her hands. She was just a useless, mindless tool, only good for hurting others.

So the biologist here and the Humanoid there can’t be "Lena". They are just refractions. Nothing more.

After what feels like an eternity, her fingers touch the Humanoid’s. They are warm to the touch, and seem to solidify under her hand, like water freezing over. Like a snake shedding its skin, the Humanoid’s body morphs again: from frozen rainbow to softer skin, then fabrics of cotton and leather.

Soon, the face she hates the most will be complete.

“Don’t,” she snaps, wrenching her gaze from the Humanoid. “Please, don’t show me her!”

The Humanoid pauses. A questioning noise comes from everywhere and nowhere, like ice caps scraping together.

“…I’m sorry. I can’t look at her face. It—it hurts to see.”

Another grinding noise. Perhaps it’s an affirmative.

When she dares to look again, she sees that the Humanoid’s head remains the same; a jarring contrast to the rest of its fleshy body. Like a blossom sprouting out of a hunk of rock.

"Thank you." The words come to her thoughtlessly; she doubts it understands. 

Silence, oppressive and tense, stretches between them like a diving board over an empty pool. 

Then the Humanoid moves of its own will. 

As hesitant as a newborn, it reaches out. Its hand curls around her shoulder, eases her against its chest. It doesn’t have a heartbeat, but something close to it: a relentless, gentle pulsing like water through a leaf’s veins. Body heat envelops her, familiar yet alien.

She doesn’t understand. Why is she being held this way? Is this a trap, or genuine tenderness? Why is she wrapping her arms around the Humanoid’s back, resting her head against its neck? Why doesn’t she want to escape?

Her vision blurs. Through the stinging tears, she sees a tiny shard of light filtering in through a crack in the cave ceiling. Even here, it glitters and refracts like a prism. The Shimmer must be cataloging this new reaction. It's an anomaly, after all.

Has the Shimmer encountered emotions other than pain or fear? Doubtful.

Is it responding to Kane’s last will? Also doubtful, but...the recording might say otherwise. It was kept safe after all this time. Another Kane came home, without knowing how. As if the pain of a biologist named Lena brought him to her side. 

What about Ventress’ will? Josie’s? Anya’s? Shepard’s? 

…Perhaps there’s nothing to understand. The Shimmer creates with the tools and material provided. And mutations are not always destructive. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs to the Humanoid.

A sigh like trees in the wind gusts past her cheek. 

Another expedition ends. Two aliens far from home cradle each other, and the world around them shimmers.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated.


End file.
